Stingy Strikes Again

STINGY STRIKES AGAIN

A NOVEL

By

A. Nidiot

What the press has said about Stingy Strikes Again

The appearance of a new Stingy of the Yard book is a sign for rejoicing by all the lovers of the great detective novel, and this one does not disappoint.  Once again the redoubtable sleuth solves a baffling crime with nothing but the deductive powers of his great brain

The Beano

A gripping tale of a dedicated team of law enforcers cast into an alien culture where they encounter evil beyond even their imaginings

Hot Sex Monthly

This is so a load of crap innit.  I mean like you thinking of reading this or whatever.

Times Literary Supplement

Full of wonderful recipes for that special party

Womans Own

Chapter 1

Detective Inspector Tubbs eyed the plain brown paper envelope on his desk with pleasure, licking his lips as he did so.  He had the magazine delivered to his office so that his wife would not find out.  His wife would not understand and his wife was a hard woman.  He winced at the thought of the consequences if she did find out.  She did not understand his needs.  True, he had to make do now with pictures rather than the real thing, but even pictures could give him some pleasure - could stir those inner juices that desperately needed stirring.  He looked outside the door to make sure that there was nobody about who might come in and disturb him and opened up the package.  He turned first to the centre fold, where he always turned to first.  His eyes went lasciviously over the big-breasted “bird” in the picture.  Tubbs always used the word “bird”.  He admired the plump rounded breasts, the skin the golden brown colour of dark olive oil.  He gazed on the pinker flesh of the legs and his eyes slowly followed them up to where they met.  The parson’s nose – always the best part he felt of a roast turkey.  And this one was pictured with all the trimmings.  His mouth watered and he remembered those days before his wife had discovered that his cholesterol was high; before she had put him on the vegetarian diet.  She didn’t understand a man’s needs.  That was the trouble.  His only consolation now was his magazine “Delia’s Special Party Collection,” and what a collection Delia had – the plump breasts and the golden brown legs - they fair made his mouth water.

While Tubbs turned over the pages gazing longingly at the creations of the lovely Delia, down in the basement Sergeant Terence (or has he preferred to be called “Tel”) Dodger was watching videos.  He was supposed to be watching security videos relating to the latest case the team were tackling, but instead he was watching old re-runs of the “Sweeney”.  Those were the days he thought.  The days when cops talked like real cops, when they “did the business down the nick,” when narks and tealeafs were banged up in chokey without all the need for this “evidence” stuff they kept going on about nowadays.  Dodger was a cop of the old school, still talking in that mixture of cockney and criminal argot so beloved of 1970’s film makers.

“Sorted,” he shouted as the redoubtable TV duo nicked another blagger.  “Sorted,” or as he said, with his ubiquitous glottal stop, “sor’ed” was his favourite expression.  Standing in for the more usual “Yes” or “Done” or even “OK”

“Before,” Dodger thought ruefully “bloody Morse came along and all cops had to be posh”.  Now they had Chief bloody Superintendent Stingy as boss and they only tackled posh crimes involving rich and important people.  The Merchants – people called their team, short for Merchant Bankers.  Stingy thought it was because of the rich people that they dealt with but Dodger knew his rhyming slang better.

Stingy was in his office working at his favourite task – cutting the budget.  He was Detective Chief Superintendent Stingy.  But although he was certainly the chief, and he was very keen on superintending everything, he never bothered with anything as mundane as detecting.  He felt that his role was as a manager and delegator.  More precisely his job was to manage the budget and delegate the work – that and sucking up to the rich and famous people The Merchants dealt with.  Stingy liked the name.  It had a ring of money about it.  He would not get his hands dirty with actual detecting, he had minions to do that.

Various plans for further reducing the budget were going through his head.  The idea to charge 10p a sheet for toilet paper was now starting to pay back.  There had been an initial expense of course, adapting the dispensing machines to take 10p pieces, but already it was starting to make a profit.  Even the chief constable had said that it would do wonders for the bottom line, wipe pounds off it indeed.

What could he do next he wondered.  He had thought of charging for drinking water, but some idiots from Health and Safety had told him that this contravened some obscure welfare law.

“Bloody Common Market,” he thought – he always blamed foreigners for everything.  They had even stopped him for charging for the plastic cups they used – but he had got his own back.  One plastic cup a day was all they were allowed – if they wanted another one they’d have to fish it out of the waste paper basket.  They’d said that nobody could be that mean – but to a man who sent his staff scouring round the building to appropriate other peoples photocopying paper it was a mere nothing.  They complained of course, said that they had better things to do than go searching for unguarded paper.  Stingy shook his head, what was more important, he thought – saving money or capturing criminals.  If only there were no criminals he could get his department running really smoothly.

The telephone rang suddenly.  Stingy snatched at the handset – more interruptions!  But then he stood up to attention – it was the chief constable, Sir Titus Newt.  Stingy always stood up for the nobility.

Newt spoke carefully.

“Delicate matter Stingy – just the thing for the Merchants.  The chief constable of Coketown needs our help.  There has been an abduction from the household of Lord Mair and somebody with the right qualities is needed to lead to investigation”

Newt paused, no doubt considering the qualities that Stingy would bring – grovelling servitude and general backside licking.

“I’ve not read anything in the newspapers,” said Stingy

“No,” replied Newt “we like to keep these things quiet – but let me say it is a loss very close to the heart of the – shall we say – important person involved.  Best not use names – I’ll think you’ll agree.  Will you take it on?”

Stingy thought quickly.  The idea of Coketown did not fill him with joy.  It was somewhere in the North – that strange land of soot blackened buildings and factories belching out black smoke.  Long lines of coal miners wearing flat caps and white mufflers – it didn’t appeal.  He had never been in the North.  He had been to Scotland of course – playing golf with the Chief Constable.  Well not exactly playing golf, the Chief Constable had had need of a caddie, and Stingy always believing that ingratiation was a good career move had been the first to volunteer.  But the North – he wasn’t quite sure how he would get on there.  But then he had an idea – he would take Mona with him.  His wife would know how to deal with those strange northerners – she was the sort of person who would even go so far as to learn a little Northern so that she could talk to the natives.  And it was a Lord.

“Yes,” he said “you can count on me”

“Good man,” said Newt “the – person - will be eternally grateful.  He was really very close to Tiddles”

“Tiddles,” said Stingy “is that some sort of pet name”

“It should be,” replied Sir Titus “seeing that it’s a cat that’s been taken”

A missing cat.  A really serious crime thought Stingy.  But still, it wasn’t the crime that was important to him, it was the fact that a Lord was involved.

“Take Tubbs and Dodger with you,” said Sir Titus “they could do with a trip out.  Why not invite them round to dinner to discuss the case”

Invite them round to dinner.  Stingy’s blood froze.  That would mean spending money.  He couldn’t go against the Chief Constable’s orders.  He would just have to impose a strict budgetary discipline on Mona.  Ten pounds.  Yes that should be enough to provide a decent dinner.  He picked up the phone to ring Mona.  What a good idea it had been, he thought, to install that pay phone in the hall.  He could ring in at the cost of the constabulary and he made a good profit on the outgoing calls.

The dinner was set for six o’clock that night.

At six o'clock prompt the Tubbs's arrived at the Stingy's neat little house.  Stingy greeted them with his customary affability.

"Come in and have a seat.  You won't want a drink at this early hour I'm sure"

"Why waste good daylight and have to pay for valuable electricity, that’s what I say,” said Stingy, "I heard that chap Jonathan Porridge saying just the same thing on a friend's wireless only yesterday,” he added in an attempt to build up his green credentials.

"Yes, it is rather early for dinner,” said Doris.

Mona came into the room carrying drinks.

“Tap water anyone,” she enquired.

“Mona dear,” asked Doris, “why are you dressed in nothing but your bra and knickers?”

“Oh, a terrible thing happened.  Just as I was getting the drinks ready a giant eagle swooped down, ripped off my dress and flew off with it.”

“Surely you have another dress dear.”

“It’s in the wash.”

“Mona doesn’t believe in having more than two dresses,” interposed Stingy, “she thinks it’s an unnecessary extravagance.  You do seem to be unlucky with them though,” he added, “when the vicar came to tea a bear ran off with your clothes and left you stark naked.”

“I do seem to be fated,” said Mona, “broken biscuit anybody, there’s still two left from the ones the supermarket threw out.”

Mona left, returning after a couple of minutes with two half digestives on a plate.

“What happened to your bra and knickers dear?” enquired Doris.

“I’m so unlucky!” said Mona, “the eagle swooped down again and flew off with them.”

“You’re just fated,” said Stingy.

“I know, why does it keep happening to me?  Anybody would think I enjoyed being naked whenever we had company.” 

“Strange you should say that,” said Tubbs, “but I remember just the same thing happening to you the last time we came to dinner.”

"What a lovely neat little house,” said Doris hastily changing the subject.

"Some people,” replied Stingy, "would think a mid-terrace in Globule Street a strange choice for a Chief Superintendent, but we thought it just right for us".

"Especially the price,” interposed Mona with a slight touch of bitterness in her voice.

"The price, exactly.” said Stingy, "Had to buy at the top of the '88 boom,” he added morosely, "nearly had to go to six figures for it".

"Six figures, who would believe it,” said Doris. 

"Would have been seven," added Mona, "but George held out for 1p reduction because of the abattoir,” her voice trailed of somewhat.

"Still, six figures,” said Tubbs "whew!".

"Mind you," said Mona coming back into the conversation, "if George had got the other 99p off, on account of the shunting yard and the tar works, like he wanted, it would only have been three figures".

"What's for dinner darling,” said Stingy in an attempt to change the subject.               

"Let me guess,” said Doris, "herrings".

"How did you know,” said Mona.

"Probably just a coincidence, but we always seem to have herrings when we come here".

"Such a nutritious food" said Stingy.

"And inexpensive" added Tubbs.

"Not a bit of it" said Stingy "even going all the way into Billingsgate market Mona still has to pay over 10p a pound".

"You go all the way into Billingsgate for the fish,” said Doris "I suppose you do get it really fresh that way, but it's such a long tube journey from here".

"Oh Mona doesn't use the tube" said Stingy "that would be a total waste of money.  Wouldn't it darling" said Stingy.

Mona did not reply so he went on.

"Besides the bicycle is much more healthy.  I admit I thought it an extravagance at the time, but with the extra paper round it enables you to take on you'll have paid off the cost in no time."

"Perhaps if you only charged me 15% above base rate I'd get it paid off sooner" Mona added.

“You were a long time at the fishmonger’s stall today,” said Stingy “did you not get seen to straight away.”

“Yes, I did get a seeing to straight away– but it took quite a long time.  He always gives me my money’s worth down the market”

A long pause was broken by Doris.

"Still you keep the house lovely.  You must vacuum it three times a day".

"Vacuum" said Stingy "Mona doesn't believe in vacuums, do you darling,” no reply, "’What’s wrong with the good old dustpan and brush' that's what she says.  And you can get things much cleaner with a brush.  I rarely have to spank her for leaving crumbs on the carpet nowadays".

"Don't you think,” said Doris tactfully, "you could spend a little more on the way of household gadgets for Mona".

"More,” said Stingy, "why only yesterday I let her scour the second hand shops for a poss tub.  Once she's saved up the money for a poss stick there'll be no more bashing the sheets on the rocks for her.  And who knows about the future, another paper round and she might be able to borrow enough for a mangle."

“I didn’t think you liked Mona going out to work,” said Doris.

“I don’t mind a proper job like a paper round,” said Stingy “not like that silly job she had before”

“What was that dear,” asked Doris

“Brain surgeon” said Mona

“Brain surgeon. I ask you,” said Stingy “what sort of a job is that.  Just fannying about.  That’s what I call it.  Not like a paper round that’s a real job.  Every morning she delivers the papers round here.  All the men tell me she gets them up in the morning.”

“Yes – and when they get up they stay up quite a long time,” added Mona “longer than some I know,” looking meaningfully at Stingy.

“What happened to the job as a brain surgeon dear?” enquired Doris.

“Another accident,” said Stingy, “she was about to give a lecture to the college of surgeons, and just before she went on a wolf ripped all her clothes off.  She had to give the lecture completely naked.  The college didn’t approve.”

Mona went out to prepare the herrings.  Dinner for ten pounds.  Ten pounds a head wouldn’t have been so bad, but ten pounds for six people, that was difficult.

Dodger arrived.

“’Ello Mrs S.  You’re looking a real picture tonight.  Where’d you get that outfit from then.  Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.”

“Saucy boy.  Fancy a nibble at my dumplings then,” Mona’s tongue licked over her lips and she jiggled her dumplings up and down.

“Are we having dumplings tonight?” enquired Tubbs, his stomach was reacting to the thought of real food.

“Dodger might be,” said Mona winking at him, “he might just get his teeth into a pair of real dumplings.”

“Did you get parked all right,” asked Tubbs disappointed at the loss of the dumplings.

“Sor’ted,” said Dodger

“Really – It took me ages to find a meter.  Did you find one OK”

“Sor’ted”

“Oh – you mean the disabled badge you nicked off of old Mrs Tompkins”

“Sor’ted”.

Conversation waned as various bits of herring were unceremoniously pushed around plates.

“Now for the business of the evening,” said Stingy “I’ve brought you all here for a very important reason.  We have been called in on a serious crime”

“Let me guess,” said Mona “some rich person’s been burgled”

“Exactly,” said Stingy “a cat burglar of the most vicious type”

“Cat burglar,” said Dodger, picking herring bones out of his teeth “I remember a cat burglar down the old East End nick.  Sent down Mick the Cripple for that for a twelve stretch in stir.”

“Mick the Cripple,” said Mona playing with her nipples to make them stand out,  “how could he do a cat burglary if he was a cripple”

“Who said anything about ‘im doing it,” said Dodger “we got ‘im sent down for it.  Gawd knows who did it”

“Whose been burgled,” interrupted Tubbs.

“Lord Mair,” replied Stingy “of Coketown”

“Coketown!!!” chorused the others in unison

“Cor blimey,” said Dodger “that’s up nawf aint it.  I aint never been nawf of Watford.  Is it safe up there?”

“I believe it is,” replied Stingy rather nervously “provided you have all the jabs and don’t drink the water”

The others did not look convinced.

“How are we going to get there?” asked Doris.

“He’ll take the car,” said Tubbs, and added aside under his breath, “he can’t drive but he likes to sit in the front and pretend he’s driving.”

“And I bet he loves to put on the blue light and scare all the speeding motorists to death,” added Mona somewhat more audibly.

Chapter 2

Tubbs had secreted his horde of magazines away from Doris’s prying eyes.  He was particularly interested in reading again about how Delia liked her rump handled at one of her special parties.  Apparently she liked it to be well beaten so that it was pink and tender.  He looked forward to seeing the picture of it again perfectly round and pink.  If only he could take a stick to Delia’s rump!  There was no-one like her for getting a steak just right.

Two days later they were on the Great North Road travelling north.  A beautiful wide straight motorway stretched out in front of them.  The rolled on through lush green countryside until they came they came to a large sign beside the road “You are now entering the NORTH”

The came over the brow of a hill and the road suddenly narrowed to a windy single carriageway jammed with snorting wagons of coal and steel.  The countryside around took on a dark and sombre appearance.  Instead of the waving fields of golden corn bleak fields of rhubarb stretched away to dark mist covered hills in the distance.  All around were the winding wheels of deserted pits surrounded by glowing pit heaps belching out clouds of acrid sulphurous fumes.

They were in the North.  Tubbs put on his respirator and Dodger cursed the fact that he had forgotten to get his jabs.  The car crawled on past small groups of morose looking northerners lining the road in the hopes that some largesse would be distributed by their more fortunate neighbours from the south, and disconsolately throwing stones at the vehicles when none was forthcoming.

They moved deeper and deeper into Northern territory.

“Is it,” Dodger hesitated, “all like this,” he finally said

“No,” replied Doris, “there are some areas they call National Parks.  Up in the hills away from the cities.  You’ll have seen them on the telly ‘Last of the Summer Wine’, ‘All Creatures Great and Small’, ‘Heartbeat and ‘Born and Bred’ – they’re all filmed in the parks.  The people all live like it was in the nineteen fifties driving old Morris Minors and listening to gramophones – you’ve got to pay to get in of course,” she added after a short pause.  Stingy lost interest.

Eventually the grimy buildings of Coketown hove into view.  The once impressive Victorian Town Hall was caked in years of soot blackened grime as they crawled up the cobbled main street easily overtaking the occasional rusty Ford Anglia puffing up the hill in front of them, but failing to avoid the mud thrown at the car by sullen groups of men lounging on the street corners, jealous of the southerners and their fancy ways.

The chief constable of Coketown was to meet them in the Town Hall.  In a town where the position of chief constable had been hereditary since the force had been established Colonel Digby Foppington-Jones was the sixth of that name to bear the position.

His family were part of the “plantation of the north” introduced by Cromwell to attempt to pacify the region by grants of land to impoverished southern gentry.  His position was therefore somewhat ambivalent, but at least he spoke proper English.

He was a tall thin man sporting a large ear trumpet

“Let me introduce you to the victim of this crime, eh.. eh..,” he said

“Lord Mair,” said Stingy

“Yes The Lord Mayor of Coketown, Alderman Ebenezer Widebottom eh..  eh..,” answered Foppington-Jones introducing a short stout man with a round face and sleeked down black hair looking like a rather shaggy rug and showing all the attributes of a badly fitting wig.

Stingy was taken aback.  He wasn’t a real Lord at all.  And he was even more taken aback when he spoke.

“Hi theor Bonny Lad.  Ye divvent knaa hoo lang aa’ve  been weeatin foor ye”

Stingy looked towards Doris as translator

“He says ‘Welcome Fine Gentleman.  You don’t know how long I have been waiting for you”

“Divvent seay ye taaak northern,” replied Widebottom.

“À ganned tae eevnin classes for fower weeks,” replied Doris in a careful southern diction.

“Ye’ve dun reet weel,” replied Widebottom “but it’s all right.  I’m rather good with languages.  I can speak Southern – or Posh as we calls it round here.  Now about this cat”

“I think we need a meeting,” said Stingy

“You feel like eating eh..  eh..,” said Foppington-Jones

“A meeting not eating,” said Stingy

“What – you want a beating eh.. eh..” said Foppington-Jones ““I think a meeting would be more useful eh.. eh…  Perhaps this evening eh.. eh..”.

“We need to go to our hotel,” explained Tubbs

“You need to go to hell eh.. eh.. did you say” said Foppington-Jones

They gave up and drove to the Great Northern Hotel, a massive edifice built in redbrick Victorian gothic style and soot begrimed as every other building in the town.

“My wife and I will be in the de-luxe suite,” said Stingy, the cost wasn’t coming out of his budget.

“Where’s your wife.  Is she coming later” asked the obsequious receptionist putting on his best southern accent.  He was an old white haired man wearing a scruffy blazer and a white shirt with dirt round the collar 

“That depends on how quickly she gets a lift” replied Stingy, “I left her trying to thumb down a lorry just outside Watford.  There wasn’t really enough room in the car for five.”

“You don’t mind her coming with another man,” asked the receptionist.

“You know what,” said Stingy “she’s always telling me that she has no problem coming with other men, but she never comes with me.”

The Tubbs’s and Dodger joined them.

“Will you want a table for dinner,” asked the receptionist

“Food would be preferable” said Tubbs, but the remark fell on deaf ears.

“What’s on the menu?” asked Doris, “my husband can only eat salads – for his health” she added

“Salad?,” said the receptionist doubtfully, “what’s a salad?”

“You know – raw vegetables,” said Doris

“Vegetables!  Raw!,” expostulated the receptionist, “why should anyone want raw vegetables!  We cook our food properly here you know – especially since we got the electricity.  Cook always does the cabbage forty minutes with plenty of salt of course.  We like our meals properly cooked round here.”

“What’s on the menu then?” asked Doris

“You’ll have to ask the head waite.r”

“Well go and ask him.”

The receptionist left returning ten minutes later dressed in a white soup stained jacket and bow tie.

“Where’s the head waiter?” asked Doris

“I am the head waiter.”

“No your not – you’re the receptionist.”

“Do I look like a receptionist?”

“Well no but…”

“There you are then.”

“Can you tell us what’s on the menu for dinner?”

“Brown Windsor Soup with Yorkshire Pudding, Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding followed by Yorkshire Pudding and Custard.”

“I hope it’s proper custard,” said Doris

“It certainly is.  The cook uses real custard powder.”

“Well it doesn’t sound very healthy to me.  Can you not do some lettuce and tomatoes.”

“Lettuce?  Is that a type of leek.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Or cabbage?”

“No.”

“Well we won’t have any round here then.  I’ve heard of those tomato things.  They eat them in France don’t they.  It’s strange what these foreigners will do.”

“How much is dinner?” asked Stingy, his mind focussing in on the important things.

“Half a crown – each.  I know it’s a bit steep but you have to push the boat out sometimes.”

“What’s ‘arf a crahn?” asked Dodger

The receptionist consulted a little note book

“Twelve and a half new pence – in your fancy new money.  We still use real money round here,” he said

Stingy whistled – it was a bit steep.  His meal would be on expenses, but Mona would have to fund her own.

“Fish and chips are tuppence ha’penny on the corner,” whispered the receptionist conspiratorially – if you need to be careful.  Stingy breathed a sigh of relief; Mona could earn that busking in a couple of hours.

Just then Mona burst in.  Her hair was dishevelled and she was red in the face.

“Have a good journey dear?” asked Stingy

“I was hitching a lift just south of Watford when a giant panda appeared running along the road, grabbed hold of my clothes and pulled them all off!,” replied Mona “fortunately it didn’t take long for a lorry driver to stop and pick me up.”

“Well I trust he gave you a good ride”

“Best ride I’ve had for a long time.”

“Perhaps you could put some clothes on now,” suggested Doris.

“Oh!  A giant bull stole them all just outside Doncaster.”

“Table for seven for dinner then,” said Stingy

“You can’t” said the receptionist

“Why not?”

“You’ve missed it!”

“We can’t have missed it – it’s only five o’clock”

“Dinner time is twelve to half past one”

“Don’t you eat in the evening”

“Of course we do.  We’re not savages here.  Supper is from six to seven”

“What’s on the menu for supper?”

“Brown Windsor Soup with Yorkshire Pudding, Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding followed by Yorkshire Pudding and Custard”

“Well seven for supper then”

And they went up to their rooms to get ready.

The bedroom was decorated in tobacco stain yellow wallpaper with matching paperwork.  A large brass bedstead with a sagging horsehair mattress occupied the centre of the room.  A large porcelain gezunder protruded from underneath it.

“Perfect,” said Stingy

They unpacked and went down to the bar, Mona wrapped in a towel.  A large burly man was serving behind the bar.  He looked as if he had just come up from the pit.

“Two large scotches” said Stingy, remembering that the drinks were on expenses.

The barman poured out two pints of beer.

“No – two scotches”

“Why aye,” said the barman “theor ye are”

“But those are beers”

“Why aye.  Scotch beers”

“But we wanted whiskey”

“Why divvent ye say so?”

At that moment the ancient receptionist hobbled back in

“Telephone call for Superintendent Stingy,” he said

Stingy followed him out.  It was Widebottom on the phone.

“Why divvent ye gan tae wor hoose for supper?” he asked

“I’m sorry, I’ll have to go for my Northern interpreter” said Stingy and set off to find Doris.

Twenty minutes of painstaking conversation later and it was agreed that the party would go to Widebottom Mansions for supper at seven o’clock.

Stingy wandered back to the bar.  Mona was looking flushed.  Her towel had been stolen by gang of marauding meerkats.

“Did you get anywhere with the barman.  Anything harder than beer?” asked Stingy

“Well he had time to get a stiff one into me while you were out,” replied Mona

“Single or double,” asked Stingy

“By the size of it, definitely a double” replied Mona.

Chapter 3

Up in the Tubbs’s room Doris was fast asleep on the bed and Tubbs was surreptitiously sneaking a look at his magazine.  There was a special article “Delia reveals her secret blancmanges”.  On the centre fold Delia had revealed all – how she moulded them to that delectable shape, how she coloured them that delightful shade of pink and best of all how she got them to wobble in that mouth watering way.They were always a hit at her special parties. Tubbs imagined how it would feel to sink his teeth into the delicious wobbly pink….

Doris stirred and Tubbs hastily stuffed the magazine back in the official looking file labelled “Case notes”

Dodger was staggering back into the hotel with a black eye.  He didn’t quite know how it had happened.  It had been so sudden.  He had put on his new red and white striped shirt to go down the pub, they were all the rage among the fashion conscious in the east end, and the next thing he knew he was lying flat on his back on the pavement.  It was all very strange.

A chauffeur driven car was sent to take them to Widebottom mansions.  They crawled through the cobbled streets for a couple of miles before going up a steep hill and passing through a pair of wrought iron gates into an open parkland – so green it could almost have been in the south.  The car drew up in front of the door and they piled out, except for Mona whom Stingy had relegated to the roof rack in order to give himself more space inside.  Mona’s luggage had mysteriously arrived so she had been wearing her favourite outfit.  The chauffeur has to be sent back to untie her when they realised that she wasn’t with them.

Just at that moment Mona came in looking somewhat dishevelled.  She was stark naked.

“What was it this time,” asked Stingy

“A giant pterodactyl swooped down.  Picked me up.  Tore off all my clothes and dropped me in the middle of the road.  I had to walk the rest of the way”

“But how did you get through the locked gates”

“I met a very obliging gardener and he took me over the garden wall”

“That was very adventurous,” commiserated Doris “there’s spikes on top of that wall”

“Oh I don’t know.  It all adds to the fun,” replied Mona, somewhat enigmatically

At that moment the chauffeur returned

“She’s gone” he said “she must have fallen off when we went over that bump coming up the hill, But I think the gardener must have seen to her because I found these on one of the spikes on the garden wall”

“Them’s frilly knickers, like what them posh lasses from London wear,” interjected Widebottom.  Everybody except Stingy looked at Mona.

“How strange” said Stingy “the pterodactyl must have dropped them – are they yours?” turning to Doris and speaking to her.

“Certainly not," said Doris “and I don’t think we should be talking about lady’s, er.. underwear”

“And there was this,” the chauffeur held up the remains of a skirt.

“It’s a pity about your dress though but,” said Widebottom to Mona, “Did it get torn by the pterodactyl?”

“It’s a mini skirt” said Mona “it’s supposed to be like that

“And lasses wear them things down south,” said Widebottom “almost makes me want to visit the place.  Not that I ever would of course,” he added quickly

They all trooped into the dining room where their plates were piled high with tripe.  The dining table was long and narrow with Widebottom and the Tubbs’s on one side and the others opposite.  Widebottom strategically placing himself opposite Mona.

“Tell us about the dastardly crime,” said Stingy.

“It weren’t a crime.  They found me not guilty,” replied Widebottom, dropping a spoonful of tripe on the floor and scrabbling about on his hands and knees to find it.

“Have you seen the pussy yet”  enquired Stingy

“Well, it were a bit dark down there but …..” he disappeared back under the table “I think I can say I have”.

“The case is solved then,” said Stingy “ the gallant Tiddles has returned,” he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh,” said Widebottom, “I thowt ye meant… Well nivvor mind.  No Tiddles han’t been seen these seven days.  And aa want ye to find her.”

“What we need,” said Doris is a real detective, “like Morse”

“Nay lass, Poirot’s your man,” interjected Widebottom, “what do you think,” looking at Stingy, “how should we gan on wi’ this case?”

“Well,” said Stingy thoughtfully, “I’ve started on a Pie Chart showing where savings can be made in the pencil and rubber budget.”

“Pies!” said Widebottom, “now you’re taakin, “tell cook to bring in pies.”

“My husband will just have a carrot,” said Doris.  Tubbs scowled and Doris glared back.

“What are you scowling about,” she said, “you know I can do things with a carrot that would make your eyes water.”

“Don’t you mean mouth water,” said Mona.

“I know what I mean,” said Doris, and from the look on his face Tubbs knew as well.  He was going to have to watch himself if Doris had brought her carrots with her.

Chapter 4

Next day Tubbs sat in his car outside the offices of the Coketown Chronicle and Argos eating a Mars Bar and reading his magazine.  Thank God he’d managed to smuggle them along.  He’d have been lost without them he thought.

And it was a particularly good edition of the magazine.  It featured an article on those most delectable of objects Delia’s Dumplings - firm, smooth and round they were of an amplitude to satisfy even the most choosy of men.  And Tubbs wasn’t even that choosy. He gazed longingly at the featured articles imagining how they would feel if he took them in his hands and gave a firm squeeze.  If only he could get hold of the real things!  Why did he never get invited to one of her special parties.

Work however called.  He discarded his Mars bar wrapper and went into the newspaper office.

He demanded to see the editor.

“He’s busy,” said the rather severe looking lady on reception.

“Not too busy for the police” said Tubbs trying the door handle.  The door wouldn’t open.

“It must be jammed” said the receptionist.

“Well get him on the blower.”

“The blower?”

“The telephone,” explained Tubbs helpfully indicating the ancient intercom system on the desk.

The receptionist pressed a large red button and a woman’s voice answered.

“Mona?  Is that you?” said Tubbs

“Yes”

“What are you doing there?”

“I thought I’d get down first and see if I could get him to put it in.”

“And has he put it in?”

“He’s just putting it…..ooh….yes…yes….I mean he’s just putting it in now.”

“Has it gone in all right?”

“Ooh yes…yes…it’s gone in all right.”

Just at that moment Stingy entered

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Mona’s with the editor now.  He’s just put it in.”

“In the front or the back?” asked Stingy.

“In the front,” Mona’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Well tell him to put it in the back.”

“I prefer it in the front,” Mona’s voice sounded a little worried.

“Why’s that,” Stingy demanded.

“It’s a bit big to go in the back?”

“Well tell him to take a look and see.”

“Very well,” Mona’s voice could be heard in the background talking to the editor.

“Have a look there.  I’m not sure it will go in.”

A further muttering could be heard in the background

”He’s looking round the back now.  He says it will be a tight squeeze, but he’s willing to have a go.”

“Well tell him to get on with it,” Stingy was getting impatient.

“Grunt, grunt,” a man’s voice could be heard then.

“Ooh, steady on,” Mona didn’t seem too happy.

“Tell him to try harder.”

“I think he’s going as hard as he can.”

“Isn’t it in yet?”

“It’s only about half in.  Ooh!  I think it’s all in now.”

“In the back.  All of it?” Stingy didn’t seem too sure.

Mona could be heard panting hard.

“Very definitely in the back and very definitely all of it!”

Just at that moment Dodger came in.

“Wot’s goin’ on ‘ere?” he said.

“We can’t get in the room the door’s jammed, and Mona says it a tight squeeze to get it in the back.”

“Sor’ed” said Didger, and flung his shoulder against the door in the time honoured way.  He bounced back off it

“Almos’ sor’ed,” he said and tried again.  Scuffling could be heard from the room behind the door.

“Sor’ed this time” said Dodger and the door flew open to reveal Mona bending over the desk.  She was looking at the proofs for the back page of the evening paper.  She was stark naked.

“What’s going on?” enquired Stingy.

“A big goat came in and ate all my clothes,” said Mona, “but Big Boy here said it didn’t matter, and he’”  She jiggled her dumplings and licked her lips.

“But where’s the advert?” asked Stingy.

“Here it is,” she said “we got it in the back just as you asked.  Pointing to a large advert which read

LOST

BLACK AND WHITE CAT GOES BY THE NAME OF TIDDLES

REWARD 2/6d

“That should get them flocking in” said Stingy

“Don’t you think that’s a bit mean for a reward” asked Tubbs

Stingy however thought it rather generous, and in that he was soon proved to be right, for next day an anonymous note was received.

It read:

IF YOUS WANT TIDDLES BACK ASK AT THE TRIPE SHOP

“Oh!” said Stingy, worried about the thought of the cost of rounds of tripe coming out of his budget, “what do we do about that?”

“Wot we need is a spy in the tripe shop,” said Dodger “I’d do it myself, only I’m allergic to that stuff.”

“Well don’t expect Albert to do it,” said Doris Tubbs “I’ve read about that passive eating, there’s no knowing what all that tripe would do to his cholesterol.”

“No problem” said Stingy “I’m sending Mona for a job down the tripe shop already “sixpence an hour and all the tripe she can eat.  She tells me she can open up for the owner – goes by the name of Geordie Broon - every day. Have you any photographs of Tiddles.”

“Aye, that we have” said Widebottom, and fifteen minutes later he was back with an old photo album.

“Here it is,” brandishing an old black and white postcard, “labelled York Hunt”

“I thought the cat was called Tiddles,” said Stingy

“Tiddles is his pet name,” replied Widebottom, “this here is a racing cat.  Racing cats is called moppets, and moppet racing is big money round here.  Tiddles’s racing name is York Hunt.”

At that moment Mona came in

“Here” said Stingy “when you go down the tripe shop tonight I want you to show that owner York Hunt.”

“Really!” said Mona, “I think I can manage that.”

“So you’re familiar with York Hunt are you?” said Stingy, “what we want to know is whether Geordie Broon is familiar with York Hunt.  Could you show him it?”

“Go into the shop and have it out with him,” said Stingy, “you can do it over the counter if you like..”

“…or on the table,” replied Mona, “although I think over the counter is best if he needs to see it clearly.”

Chapter 5

Tubbs was sitting in his hotel bedroom.  Doris had gone out and he felt he had a few minutes to peruse his magazine again.  There was the article he had been looking forward to “Delia shows off her buns at one of her special parties”.  And there was the picture!  Delia’s buns in all their glory – round, smooth and baked golden as if by the Mediterranean sun (which they probably had been).  His eyes widened, and his mouth watered when suddenly he heard a noise behind him.  Doris was standing in the door looking at him.  In one hand she held a carrot and in the other a parsnip.

“You know what I said you’d get if I caught you with that magazine again,” she said “and you know where you’re going to get it.  So which one do you want?  The carrot or the parsnip”.

Tubbs gulped.  Doris was not to be gainsaid.   The carrot was bigger, but the parsnip was wider.  He opted for the carrot.

Next day Stingy was working on his budget again.  Money from the speed cameras was drying up.  It had been a good idea getting the speed limit on the three lane dual carriageway reduced to 50 mph and then hiding the camera in the dip under the flyover, but the motorists had got wise to it now.  Then the parking had been a good source of income.  Putting up signs in the High Street saying “Parking 8.30 am to 5.30 pm” with “Fee £50” in small letters underneath had been a stroke of genius, but again people only got caught once.  Now he had to find money for two police women who had been foisted on him.  Honestly!   What good were they?  He already had enough WPC’s to make the tea, clean the floor and iron his shirts.  What was he going to do with two more!

They had had the tripe shop wired for sound.  A microphone had been hidden in the old valve radio so they could hear what happened when Mona showed Geordie Broon what he needed to see.

The police and Widebottom were gathered round the receiver in the local police station.

Her voice came loud and clear over the speaker.

“I’ve got something to show you.  Look at this”

“Is that York Hunt”

“You’re not sure?”

“I wouldn’t have thought York Hunt would have been so hairy”

“What!”

“Oh I see.  It’s not York Hunt.  It’s Uranus.  Uranus is has long dark hairs, but York Hunt has only short ginger hairs!”

“I don’t understand”

“York Hunt is Geordie Ackers’ cat.  A real racing moppet.”

“But I thought York Hunt was a pet cat owned by Alderman Widebottom”

“York Hunt owned by Widebottom.  Never!  That’s Uranus – there’s something fishy going on here.”

Back at the police station Widebottom had turned as white a sheet.

“Who’s Geordie Ackers,” asked Stingy

“He’s Mr Big,” round here replied Widebottom, “owner of the Hackers and one of the Pillars of the North.”

“Who are the Hackers?” asked Stingy 

“They’re the local football team.  Coketown United is their real name, but everybody calls them Ackers’ Hackers.  Perennially fourth from bottom of the league.  You see Geordie Ackers won’t spend money on fancy foreign players like them southern clubs.  We ‘ad one up ‘ere last week.  Manager was some poncy foreign bloke.  Arsole Wanker or summat like that he were called.  All ‘is team ‘ad long ‘air.  Didn’t take much time for the Hackers to see them off.  Kicked them off the pitch they did.”

“You mean Coketown won the match” said Doris

“In terms of yer actual goals no,” replied Widebottom “but in terms of players they were down to eight men by the end – and that was after using all their substitutes”

“And who are the Pillars of the North?” Doris interjected

“Well they’re a sort of private organisation”

“You mean men’s secret society,” said Doris, “like the Masons”

“True – we are currently restricted to male members.”

“And I bet you dress up in funny clothes and have secret rituals.”

“There is regalia and of course ceremony,” said Widebottom, “but there’s nothing wrong with that.  The Royal Family, God bless them, have regalia and ceremonies.”

“Sounds odd to me,” said Doris, “who’s in this society”

“All the leading lights of Coketown.  Myself, of course, Geordie Ackers, Jock McSporran and Geordie Boot.  Tomorrow we’ll be choosing the new Grand Master of the Inner Circle.”

“Who are Jock McSporran and Geordie Boot?”

“Jock is Life Manager of the Hackers.  He’s 103 years old but still manages to get out onto the training pitch with the lads.  Provided he has ‘is oxygen with him of course.  And Geordie Boot is our Centre Forward.  Been with the Hackers man and boy.  Every year he says he’s going to retire, but who says 57 is too old for a Centre Forward.”

“Could I become a Pillar?” asked Stingy

“Certainly,” said Widebottom, “it only costs £10 to join”

Stingy’s mouth dropped at the horror of the situation.  His plan to infiltrate the Pillars dashed at a blow.

“And how do you choose the Grand Master?” Doris was persistent in her questioning.

“Well all the members appear together and each one in turn erects his pillar.  When all the pillars are fully erected then the Serving Princess selects the pillar that she finds the best.”

“Who is the Serving Princess?”

“A maiden chosen for her beauty and innocence.”

“What happens then?”

“The Princess kneels before the chosen pillar and is taken up the podium.”

“Can anyone do this,” interposed Mona “because I’d like to volunteer.”

Stingy sat up – another chance to infiltrate the Pillars had appeared.

“Yes Mona would be just right,” he said

“Well lass,” said Widebottom admiringly, “if you don’t mind getting something special up the podium I’ll put your name forward.”

Chapter 6

The team was in conference but Tubbs’s mind was elsewhere.  He was thinking of the latest copy of his magazine which he had just secretly obtained.  Despite Doris’s threats he could not give it up.  The magazine had described Delia’s nibbles.  Delia had said that when she gave one of her special parties she always had to make sure that her nibbles stood out.  To make sure that they stood out she always greased them beforehand.  This made sure that they were the centre of attraction.  The pictures of Delia’s well greased nibbles were etched into Tubbs’s thoughts and he couldn’t get the sight of them out of his mind.

The voice of Digby Foppington-Jones brought him back to reality.  

“You mean we need somebody into Dover eh… eh…”

“Naw, naw,” said Dodger, “under cover.  I need to go under cover.”

He was saying that they needed somebody under cover.  Dodger was offering to go in deep.  That was his speciality.  He would get a legend and go underground.  Deep underground.

“Sor’ted,” he said “I’ll go in deep.  Get to know the names.  Get to know the faces.  Put the names to the faces and..” he added portentously, “put the faces to the names”

He left tapping the side of his nose significantly.

“And I should be in West Dunstable,” said Mona laughing

“You should be a Special Constable eh… eh…” said Foppington-Jones, “I quite agree.  Go down to the Police Station, eh… eh.. or ‘Nick’ as I think you call it in the vernacular eh.. eh…, to speak to our senior officer and his deputy.  Indeed our only officer and his deputy,” he laughed silently.

“You mean you only have two members of the force,” asked Stingy staggered at the thought.

“Two members of a horse eh.. eh..” I don’t think so.  A horse has more members than that.”

“Two members of the force,” shouted Mona, “two policemen”

“No need for more eh… eh..,” replied Foppington-Jones, “there’s practically no crime here you know.  The people are far too poor.  Committing crime costs money you know.” 

But Mona thought it was a jolly good idea to become a special constable.  It sounded so much better than an ordinary constable

So next day she pushed round the old creaking revolving doors that led into the dimly lit, wood panelled interior of Coketown Police Station.  Behind the desk stood a large, stout man with a handle bar moustache and three stripes on his arm.  A callow youth sat on a small stool beside him.

“Are you Sergeant Burleigh,” asked Mona

“I am, replied the moustachioed man behind the desk and this, pointing at the callow youth, is PC Terminal.

Mona laughed.

“That’s a funny name,” she said

“And why should that be Miss,” replied Burleigh

“I mean PC Terminal it’s like a PC terminal.  I mean the terminal to a Personal Computer.”

“What’s a ‘Personal Computer’?” replied Burleigh, “Is that one of those fancy Southern gadgets we keep hearing about, because if so we don’t w ant none of them up here.”

Mona thought she had better change the subject.

“Colonel Foppington-Jones said you might like to take advantage of me,” said Mona

“Did he now, and why should that be?” asked the Sergeant, “Perhaps if you just lean over the desk here so that Albert, that is PC Terminal, can take down your particulars.”

Mona did as instructed while Albert carefully took down her particulars

“Right then.  I’ll just look up your credentials to see if there’s anything worth taking advantage of.”

Burleigh was evidently satisfied with what he saw as he decided that they could both take advantage of Mona straight away.  Especially as a passing gnu had just run off with all her clothes.

With her badge as Special Constable duly earned Mona took her place as the Serving Princess at that night’s meeting of the Pillars of the North.

All the greatest pillars in the town were on display as she looked round to choose the biggest and the best.  There were some mighty erections to choose from – some almost ten inches in height.

But it was clear who had the best pillar.  That of Geordie Boot stood out amongst all the rest.  It was he whom she chose to take her up the podium.

And seated on the podium was Alderman Widebottom the retiring Grand Master.  Mona took Geordie Boot’s pillar of golden sovereigns to present to the retiring master as a gift for his relentless charitable work.  She slowly climbed the stairs and held them out before Widebottom.  But as she did so a look of horror came on her face, for Widebottom’s mouth was held in a fixed grin and as she approached he slowly slumped forward in his chair and a long handled dagger could be seen sticking out from between his shoulder blades.

Widebottom was dead!

Mona stared at the lifeless form of Widebottom.  There was a noise behind her as of large numbers of people exiting a room.  When she looked round she found that large numbers of people had indeed exited the room and she was standing alone with the lifeless body.  She ran to the nearest telephone and dialled 999.  The voice of Sergeant Burleigh answered.

“There’s been a murder,” she shouted down the receiver.

“You’ll be wanting the police then,” answered Burleigh

“But you are the police,” said Mona.

“And you’re a special constable,” said “Burleigh, “I suggest you take charge.  Why not call in Stingy of the Yard as it appears we’re not good enough to handle any proper crimes round here.”

“Does that mean I have to put my clothes on,” said Mona.

“Do as you like,” said Burleigh, and he put the phone down.

Five minutes later the team were assembled (minus Dodger who was still underground) with a real murder to investigate.

Stingy was alarmed.  Budgets were his thing, not murders.  Stingy of the Yard was renowned for catching police officers claiming an extra threepence on their expenses, not for catching murderers.

“Shouldn’t we get a post mortem done,” said Mona

“Should we get some toast over done eh.. what..,” said Foppington-Jones

“No.  We need an autopsy,” shouted Mona.

“We need to call Topsy  eh..  who’s Topsy what…” said Foppington-Jones

By dint of much shouting Mona got him to understand

“I’ll see to that” said Foppington-Jones and he trundled off to arrange for the disposal of the body.

“Let’s list all the people who were here.  They’ll be our principal suspects,” said Mona.

So the list was drawn up.

Geordie Ackers

Geordie Boot

Jock McSporran

Geordie Broon

“I suggest Mona starts interviewing them” suggested Tubbs, not exactly keen to do any work himself.  Stingy, whose interviewing skills left much to be desired, agreed.

So Mona called McSporran on the telephone

The others listened intently as she failed to get a word in edgeways after announcing who she was.

“What did he say” enquired Doris

“He’s invited me to go and watch the Hackers at their next match.  Apparently they’re playing their archrivals from Bungleland tomorrow - otherwise known as the Mackers.  It promises, apparently, to be an exciting game”.

“Why has he invited you,” asked Doris

“Apparently he has something to show me!”

Chapter 7

Next day Tubbs sat in his room reading back copies of his magazine.  Doris had gone out shopping with Mona to buy something suitable for the match.  Stingy had thought this an extravagance, but Mona had saved enough from her pay as a Special Constable/Tripe Shop Assistant to buy a few things.  Tubbs was looking again at the article on Delia’s Little Pink Fancy.  Unlike French Fancies, hers was pink and smooth, and yes, as he looked longingly at the picture he could see that it was smeared with just a little coating of butter. The way she always presented it at one of her special parties. It looked so soft and moist that he longed to get his tongue into it .

Doris and Mona had indeed gone shopping.  They were at that moment engaged at looking at the fashions on display at Ryles Emporium (ladies and Gents Outfitters of Renown).  All the female mannekins showed a remarkable resemblance to the Queen Mother and all the males to the unfortunate Alderman Widebottom.  The fashion for jejune supermodels had obviously not yet penetrated this far north.

“Goodness” said Doris “these fashions date from before the Ark”

“Or even the 1950’s” added Mona – in a tone that indicated that this was even longer ago, “I can’t wear any of this lot.”

“Have you nothing special?” asked Doris, “French Fashions perhaps?”

“Oh!  It’s French Fashions you’re after,” said the assistant with a sly wink, “that depends on how many coupons you have”

“Coupons?” said Doris, “what sort of coupons?”

“For the rationing of course,” said the assistant, “you’ll have to show me your ration books.”

“But clothes haven’t been rationed since 1952,” said Doris.

“Hey Edna,” shouted the assistant to her friend, “there’s a woman here who thinks you can buy clothes without ration coupons.”

“Oh yes,” said Edna, “perhaps we can just have a quiet word.”

She took Mona and Doris into a corner.

“I’m sure there’s thems as thinks we’re backward here,” said Edna, “but we’re not you know.  Oh no.  If you go down the hardware department you’ll see as many of them fancy baths as you get in Lunnun.  Some of them even bigger than yours I dare say.  Why there’s one down there that’ll take two hundredweight of coal – and I bet you can’t match that.”

Mona and Doris were forced to agree.

“And if  you be wanting clothes on the,” and she lowered her voice whispering, “black market.  There be ways and ways,” she added winking.

“And what are these ways?” asked Mona

“If I was to say Geordie Ackers, then you’d know what I’d meant,” added Edna.

Mona had no idea what she meant, but at the name Geordie Ackers her ears pricked up.

“What about Geordie Ackers?” she asked.

“Least said soonest mended,” said Edna, “here be the French Fashions,” and she winked again.

Mona was soon fixed up with a striped shirt and a beret.

Dodger had completely disappeared, Tubbs had got himself lost. Stingy was still doing budgets and Sergeant Burleigh wasn’t interested.  Mona thought to herself why shouldn’t she solve the crime.  She was after all a special constable and nobody else seemed to be bothered with it.

She thought that the first thing to do was to go that evening and see if Foppington-Jones had got the autopsy done.

He lived in a big Victorian mansion in the centre of the city.  The old retainer lit the gas lamps as she entered.

Foppington-Jones was with a short dapper little man with a flowing French beard à la Toulouse Lautrec, a large embonpoint and a chauve pate.

“Permit zat I introduce myself,” announced the little man, “I am Homuncule Le Coq, ze famous Belgian detective.  I am not French.  I spit on ze French.  Bah!” and he spat on the ground.

“Who?” eclaimed Mona.

“You ‘av not ‘eard of Homuncule Le Coq.  Ze great willy detective?”

“What!”

“Homuncule Le Coq.  He is ze great willy detective.  Ze detective wiz ze great willy organ>”

“The great willy what!”

“Willy organ.  Ze brain.  My brain, he is very willy.  How you say – very clever at ze deductions.”

“Oh – you mean wily!” said Mona, “you have a wily brain”

“Zat is what I say.  Ze great willy organ and I say you are piddling in ze deep waters.”

“Fiddling in jeep porters eh what?” said Foppington-Jones

“Not ze fiddling, ze piddling – you are piddling in ze deep waters,” he gave up with a pronounced shrug.

“Have you the results of the post-mortem?” Mona yelled into Foppington-Jones’s ear trumpet.

“Have I put salt on the roast pork what? Eh.. eh..” said Foppington-Jones, “I say it’s a bit hot in here,” he went on” you wouldn’t like to just slip out of that hot dress would you eh.. what..?”

“I’ve come about the autopsy,” shouted Mona, taking her dress off without the assistance of any wild animal.

“It’s for the dropsy.  But I haven’t got the dropsy eh.. what,” said Foppington-Jones “Oh dear, yes I have” as he spilled his glass of port all over Mona’s bra and knickers.

“I’ll get Smithers to clean that up.  Don’t worry he said.  Just slip your things off and we’ll send them right along”

“We need to be on the right path,” said Mona now stark naked and jiggling her dumplings.

“What, We need my night bath.  You’re quite right my dear..” said Foppington-Jones and rang the bell for the ancient retainer.

“The bath Smithers eh.. what..,” he addressed to stooped figure who appeared in the doorway.

“Could you just leave us for a minute eh what” he said to Le Coq who departed into the next room still muttering about deep waters.

Mona was despairing of getting any information before Foppington-Jones disappeared for his bath.

But he didn’t disappear for the bath, the bath appeared for him.  It was an old tin affair and was placed in front of the fire and filled with water from an old copper (that is to say an old metal boiler, not Foppington-Jones)

Foppington-Jones divested himself of his clothes and jumped in the bath.  

“Would you care to join me,” he addressed Mona, pointing to the other end of the tin tub “it’ll be something to do while Smithers cleans your underwear.”

Mona averted her gaze.

Foppington-Jones didn’t seem to like to take ‘No’ for an answer as loud shrieks came from the bath, but Mona did not see why she should have to scrub Foppington-Jones’s back.  Shrieks gave way to yells, then funny gurgling noises.  Mona relented at last.  If Foppington-Jones was unable to bath himself perhaps she would have to go to his aid.

But when she turned back to face the bath an unfortunate sight greeted her, Foppington-Jones’s lower half was out of the water but his head was under the water.  And he was quite dead.  Drowned dead.

Le Coq burst into the room

Another murder!  It was a bit unfortunate.  Reluctantly Mona picked up the phone to inform Burleigh.  He seemed pleased rather than anything else to hear the news.  She got the feeling that Foppington-Jones had not been his favourite person.

However he declined to rush.  As did Stingy who was working out a particularly difficult calculation.  Tubbs was still hiding.

It was late at night before Mona got back to the hotel and the next day she had to go to the football match.

As a guest of the manager she was seated with him in the executive box (a converted bus shelter at the side of the pitch”.

Five minutes before half time no goals had been scored and both teams were down to nine men.  The Bungleland goalie grabbed the ball.  Geordie Boot went sailing in, pushed him over, kicked him a couple of times as he lay on the ground then fell over theatrically holding his head.  The referee immediately blew for a penalty.

“He seems to be a bit biased – that referee,” said Mona

“Only doing what he’s paid to do” said McSporran, with a look to indicate who it was that had paid him.

Geordie Boot came up to take the penalty which was easily saved.  The referee blew for it to be taken again, and again, and again until at the fifth attempt Geordie Boot finally got it into the net.  He ran round the ground with his hands held high in his trademark goal salute.

“Always a winner” said McSporran, and then looking furtively at Mona as the whistle for half time blew “come into my office dear.  I have something to show you”.

Fifteen minutes later Mona ran out stark naked and screaming into the arms of Doris who had been deputed to come and find her.

“What happened?” asked Mona

“Well we went into his office and he said he had to come out with something”

“And did he come out with it”

“Yes he did.  Then he started working himself up.  Then when he got himself fully worked up he became very excited and said he couldn’t hold it in any longer.  Then it all came spurting out”

“Oh Dear!” said Doris “were you standing right in front of him”

“Yes I was” said Mona and I’d lost all my clothes.

“That must have been a sticky situation”

“It was”

“Then you’ll need a tissue dear,” said Doris

Mona took one and wiped her eyes.

“Yes it all came out.  He told me about the plan”

“What plan?”

“The plan to substitute Uranus with York Hunt in the Moppet Derby.  What I think they call a ringer.  Then they would make a fortune on the result”

“But who was in the plan?” asked Doris “whoever it was must be the murderer”

“That’s just it,” said Mona “he didn’t get a chance to say.  He just clasped at his chest and collapsed on the floor.  Dead”

“Murdered?” asked Doris

“Could be.  But I think he was poisoned”

“And I sink so too”

They turned to see that Le Coq had been there all the time

“And why do you think he was poisoned”

“Zat is easy,” said Le Coq “it is because, LeCoq, ‘e is ‘ere.  Whatever ze place I go, zere is always ze murder.  Zerefore when Le Coq, ‘e ‘ear zat ze man, he is dead, Le Coq, ‘e know zat it is ze question of ze murder”

Tubbs and Stingy suddenly burst on to the scene.  On hearing the news Tubbs looked distinctly miserable.  Not only could he see that a third murder meant at least another half hour’s work for him, but he could see his sojourn in the North extending into eternity, or at least into the following week.  Which would be just as bad.

Stingy looked even more miserable.  He had just been reading that the average cost of any murder enquiry topped £100, he couldn’t possibly find the budget for three murder enquiries.  Mona would just have to fund it out of her earnings in the tripe shop.

Dodger meanwhile was going underground.  He didn’t quite know why he needed a hat with a lamp on and a large shovel to so this.  He had been informed by Burleigh that this was essential for underground work, but as he stood in the rapidly descending cage he wondered if he had quite made the right decision.

Chapter 8

Tubbs was hiding in the hotel lounge away from his wife.  The stress of the job was really getting too much for him.  He might be expected to tackle a criminal, or even write a report if these murders kept happening.  He turned to his magazine for consolation.  Delia was showing off her tit-bits, and there was nothing as consoling as a sight of Delia’s sumptuous tit-bits, especially when she was shaking them hard into the mouth of an eager guest at one of her special parties..

Stingy was worried.  All these murders were seriously eating into his budget and he still had the problem of the women police constables to deal with.

Then he had a bright idea.  He had heard that young ladies dressed as police constables could earn good money delivering ‘special’ telegrams.  If good money could be earned by ladies dressed as women police constables, better money could surely be earned by real policewomen delivering ‘special’ telegrams.

He had a few telephone calls to make (on his Coketown expenses of course).

Later that morning back in the hotel lounge Mona and Doris were in conference.

“Where do we go from here?” Mona asked Doris.

“I think Geordie Boot might the person to tackle next,” said Doris

“Well I’ll give him a ring,” said Mona going over to the old pay telephone in the Hotel foyer.  

Boot answered the phone personally

“Hello I’m a special constable with the Coketown Police,” said Mona

“Oh!  A ‘special’ constable,” said Boot 

“And I’d like to come and interview you,” continued Mona

“An interview with a ‘special’ constable.  I can’t miss that,” said Boot “why not come and have a round of golf with me.”

“You don’t mean that there’s a golf course in Coketown,” gasped Mona

“It’s in my back garden,” said Boot, “and I’ll show you my equipment, and how I get into the hole.”

It was too good an opportunity for Mona to miss and an appointment was made for that very afternoon.

A rustling noise alerted them to the fact that someone was listening.  They turned to see Le Coq jumping up and down excitedly.

“Ze Boot.  Ah yes, ze Boot.  It is he, ze Boot, zat I suspect.  ‘E as ze big ‘arse.  And I always suspect ze people wiz ze big ‘arse””

“He’s got what?”

“’E ‘as ze big ‘arse.  Zat ‘e keeps in ze field.  ‘E does not ride ze big ‘arse, ‘e does not eat ze big ‘arse, zerefore he is ze betting man, ze Boot, it is ‘e zat I, Le Coq, suspect”

“He means a big horse,” said Mona “is that really suspicious”

“Only if you’re a Frenchman.  They eat horses” said Doris

“I am not ‘ze Frenchman.  I am ze Belgian.  I spit on ze French.  Bah!”

Boot answered the door personally to Mona.  He looked disappointed when she announced who she was.

“You’re not in uniform,” he said

Mona wondered.  Should a special constable have a uniform.  She didn’t know.

“I’m a plain clothes special constable,” she said

“That’s not much good,” said Boot “I like the uniform.  On or off” he added enigmatically

“Well I haven’t got a uniform,” said Mona.

“I’ve got one” announced Boot suddenly “shall I go and get it”

“All right,” said Mona thinking she had better humour him

She was however rather surprised to see that Boot returned wearing the uniform.

"What happened to your clothes," asked Boot, "don't tell me a marauding pig ran off with them!"

"How did you guess?"

"They're always doing that!"

“Do you like the size of my weapon?,” he asked, showing off his special instrument.

“Er no,” said Mona “perhaps we’d better get on the with the golf”

“Here’s the first hole,” said Boot “you have to get the ball up the slope, through the clown’s mouth, then hope it runs round the miniature palm tree.  It’s a tricky hole but not as hard as the next one when you have to get the ball past the sails of the windmill.”

He turned towards her

“You don’t mean you’re a real policeman,” said Boot

“Of course” said Mona, well she was a sort of real policeman

“You’re not investigate the Widebottom murder are you”

“Well yes” said Mona

“Perhaps you’d better know about Geordie Broon,” said Boot “Did you know that the tripe shop was just a front for the bookies”

“Why would he need to have a tripe shop as cover for a bookmakers”. 

“Well off course betting isn’t legal, is?” said Boot

“Well actually it is” said Mona 

Boot shook his head as if to say ‘stupid woman’

“Somebody had a very big bet with Geordie Broon that Uranus would win the moppet derby” said Boot

“Who?” asked Mona

But Boot turned towards the first hole and struck the ball.  It rolled up the slope, through the clown’s mouth, rolled round the palm tree and into the hole.

“Hole in one.  It was….”

Boot jumped up and down as a football suddenly rolled along the ground beside him.  He booted it down the garden and ran after it.

“No no!  He has ze big bum.  He has ze big bum”

She turned round and saw the diminutive figure of Le Coq running towards her.

Although Boot did seem to be anatomically well endowed in that area she was surprised that Le Coq was so excited about the fact.

“What’s the matter with his bum?” she asked

“He has a big bum and ‘e is going to let it off” said Le Coq

“What!”

“I’s bum.  It is about to go off”

Suddenly Mona realised what he was saying.  Boot was aiming a huge kick at a bomb!

There was a loud explosion and Boot was no more.

Chapter 9

Tubbs had been located and informed by Stingy that he must go and investigate the Boot murder.  He was not happy.  He had had to leave his magazine behind.  And he had just been reading the bit about Delia showing off her rissole.  Delia had a delicate, round pink one and according to the article she liked to have her rissole licked whenever she held one of her special parties.  From the picture of it on the centre fold Tubbs could see why.  He almost stuck his tongue out and licked the page.

Stingy was going frantic.  Following the unfortunate deaths of Widebottom and Foppington-Jones he had received a telephone call from Sir Titus Newt in London.  As Coketown no longer had either a Lord Mayor or a Chief Constable the Queen herself had asked that Stingy fulfil the role of Acting Chief Constable.  Stingy was only too pleased, as the resulting increase in salary was more than enough to compensate for the prolonged stay in the North.  However on checking his wage slip he calculate that he was a penny ha’penny short.  This had put him into such cataclysms of rage that he was totally unable to concentrate on what was now beginning to look like the work of a serial killer.

Tubbs had been tracked down hiding in a broom cupboard and been placed in charge of the case.  However he had never had to deal with a murder enquiry before and it wasn’t quite his thing.  In fact he didn’t know quite where to start.  He was at that moment perusing the bookshelves of the Alderman Widebottom Public Library looking for books on solving murders.  So far all he had come up with was a copy of The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes and the Beano Bumper Book of Baddies for Boys.  Neither of them seemed to offer much practical help in the current situation.

Dodger was crawling along a narrow, dark tunnel, lit only by the light on the top of his helmet, and that was starting to get alarmingly dim.  He didn’t know where he was or what to do.

Mona however did know what to do.  She and Doris had decided that it was necessary to tackle Geordie Broon.  If the tripe shop was indeed an illegal bookies it was likely that it would be at the heart of any attempt to fix the Moppet Derby.  It was not possible however to keep Le Coq out of the act.  He continually fussed around them as they discussed how to approach the situation.

Finally he butted in saying

“It is Homuncule le Coq who will dissolve ze cream”

Mona and Doris looked at him uncomprehendingly

“What cream?” the chorused

“Ze dastardly cream.  Le Coq, he tanks ‘e will go to ze treep shop and dissolve ze cream”

“You tank?”

“Of course.  When you ‘ave ze great willy organ it is tanking all ze time” said Le Coq

“I tank he means he's thinking – or do I think he’s means he’s tanking” said Doris “in any case he wants to go to the tripe shop to solve the crime.”

“Why do you suspect Broon,” enquired Mona

“Le Coq, he see ‘im.  ‘Iding be’ind ze big peenis of ze Boot,” replied Le Coq

“Not big enough to hide Geordie Broon, surely” said Mona “not in my opinion anyway”

“Ah yes.  Le coq, he see ‘im, ‘iding be’ind ze big peenis”

“Those pines in Boot’s garden are too small, you must be mistaken” said Mona

“Le Coq, he will go to ze treep shop and ‘e will talk to ze Broon.  Alone.  When le Coq, he wants to be alone wiz ze Broon he will wank at you”

“Well that should have the desired effect,” said Mona

“Le Coq, ‘e is ze big wanker.  ‘E likes ze wanking and ‘e will wank at you when ‘e wants to be alone wiz ze Broon,” said Le Coq

“Well, don’t make it too obvious,” said Mona, and they set off for the tripe shop

Broon was stirring the tripe as they went in.

“I need to speak to you about the Moppet Derby, and before you ask it was a mongoose,” Mona came straight out with it

"Mongoose?"

"That stole all my clothes."

“I did wonder.  Perhaps we’d better go somewhere alone”

Mona’s eye was caught by the sight of Le Coq grotesquely winking at her from the doorway.  Oh!  That was what he’d meant.  She ignored him.

“Do you want to go up somewhere really intimate,” she said to Broon

“I thought I might be accommodated in the little back passage,” said Broon

“It’ll be a bit of a tight squeeze for you, but I’m willing if you are” said Mona, and they slipped through the back door out of the sight of Le Coq.

“Now then, what’s all this about a big betting coup for the Moppet Derby” asked Mona

“Honestly, there is no betting coup for the Derby,” said Broon “believe me, I would know if there was.  I showed the pictures of York Hunt and Uranus to Geordie Ackers”

“Oh!   What did he think of them?” said Mona

“He liked to the look of them,” said Geordie Broon “so much so that he’s entering them both for the Derby, so there can be no question of ringers or a betting coup”

“Well what’s behind these murders” enquired Mona

“I think it’s something else entirely,” said Broon “what I think is this…” he stopped suddenly “is that a noise outside?”

He crept out through the door while Mona waited.  Suddenly there was a loud thump and a shriek.

Mona rushed out as Le Coq rushed in.  They both nearly tripped over the prostrate form of Broon lying dead on the ground.  Struck down by an improvised club fashioned from frozen tripe.

Chapter 10

To his horror Tubbs had now found himself in charge of yet another murder.  He was beginning to suffer from what he could only think of as work related stress.  His only relaxation could be found with his magazine.  The article he was looking at promised to be relaxing indeed.  Apparently when Delia threw one of her special parties she really looked forward to a good stuffing, and in the article she described the essential ingredients for her to get the most from her stuffing.  Particularly important she thought was the slow preparation.  “You can’t rush a good stuffing,” said Delia “if you’re going to get the maximum pleasure from it”.

Stingy had started the day in a better mood.  He had been promised a bonus if he got the murders solved by the weekend. And towards this end he had constructed several bar graphs and a bar chart.  These he had pinned up on the walls with a lot of photographs of the victims and arrows pointing in random directions.  He had watched Morse; he knew what to do!  Having done that much however he was at a bit of a loss what to do next.  Dodger had always recommended rounding up the usual suspects, but who were the usual suspects?  Where was Dodger when he needed him?  He would have known who the usual suspects were.  And what would he do with them when he’d rounded them up?  Dodger would have known what to do.  Beat them up until somebody confessed, but Stingy didn’t know how to beat anybody up.  His chances of achieving the bonus were looking slimmer by the hour.

Dodger had found some sort of empty railway truck, climbed in and fallen asleep.  He now woke up to find himself being hauled along a long sloping incline.  All hope abandoned he went back to sleep again.

Doris and Mona were consulting their list of suspects again, with Le Coq peering obsequiously over their shoulders.  It did not make happy reading.  Every name had been crossed off it except that of Geordie Ackers.  Who was the mysterious Geordie Ackers?  Was he the murderer?  It was hard to think who else it would be.

Mona decided that background information would be required before tackling the person who was now the prime suspect.  But who to ask?  The she remembered the conversation in Ryle’s Emporium and the secret disclosure that Geordie Ackers could provide ration coupons to those who were willing to pay.

Mona and Doris went back to the shop.  The plan was to pretend to be after ration coupons and so to make contact with the mysterious Geordie Ackers.

They quickly located the sales assistant.

“I think we’re in need of help from you know who?” whispered Mona in a conspiratorial tone

“Who?” answered Edna

“You know who – G.A” said Mona “about the ration coupons”

“Geordie Ackers!” shrieked Edna, “quiet don’t be so conspicuous.  You wanting to contact Geordie Ackers?”

“Yes” said Mona “that’s the general idea”

“The Geordie Ackers?”

“Yes”

“The mysterious Geordie Ackers?”

“Yes”

“That’s easy he works over in the newspaper office”

“You mean in the offices of the Coketown Chronicle and Argos”

“That’s right.  He’s the owner.  And the editor.  And the chief reporter.  He’s what you would call a ‘Media Racoon’”

“Don’t you mean ‘Tycoon’”

“I know what I mean” said Edna “and I think you might be hearing from him soon”

When she got back to the hotel Mona found a large embossed card waiting for her.  It read “Geordie Ackers invites you to accompany him in his private box at the Moppet Derby tonight”

Geordie Ackers!  The mysterious Geordie Ackers.  She was going to meet him at last.  While the others were to go to the Moppet Derby and sit only in the stand with the general public she would be in Geordie Ackers’ private box.  And why did he want to see her.  What mysterious plot lay behind this mysterious request?

It was with some trepidation that she met the great man himself.  He was big, broad and wore a flowery suit.

“Eh oop lass” he said “I ‘ear you’re wi’ police.  I’ve got a fine body of evidence ‘ere.. I say I’ve got a fine body of evidence ‘ere ha ha ha!   Eh it’s the way I tell ‘em.  ‘Ere’s me truncheon – it’s often upstanding in court.  I say it’s upstanding in court.  Oh there’s no joke like an old joke I say!  What 'appened to yer clothes,  I say wahat 'appened to yer clothes?”

“And you’re the old joke round here” thought Mona, but not out loud.

"It's a long story involving a giraffe and a pair of sugar tongs," replied Mona.

“I’ve got two dogs in this race” said Ackers  “York Hunt and Uranus.  Can’t think why I called them that.  I say I can’t think why I called ‘em that” 

“I sink Le Coq, ‘e know why”

Mona turned to see that the little Belgian was seated in the corner of the box.  She had not noticed him before

“Why” she asked

“Aha!  Le Coq, ‘e know” answered Le Coq enigmatically

“When does the race start” asked Mona thinking that she had better change the subject rapidly

“In about ten minutes” said Ackers “the moppets are parading round the track now”

And looking down through the gloom at the racetrack Mona could make them out as they were being led round to the starting traps.  The small white mouse that they were to chase round the track was already starting its long journey round.

The cats were put into the traps:  Uranus in Trap 1 and York Hunt in Trap 2.  Mona wondered what the great betting coup with the moppets was going to be.  Which cat would triumph?  With a shout the traps were sprung open and the cats raced out.

Into the first bend Uranus was leading.

“Up Uranus! Up Uranus” shouted half the crowd

Then York Hunt took the lead

“Up York Hunt!  Up York Hunt” shouted the other half

“Now you see why ‘e name ze cats zis way” said Le Coq

Mona was still at a loss.

Into the last bend and Uranus had the lead again, but ten yards from home a sudden spurt from York Hunt saw the erstwhile Tiddles triumphantly crossing the line a full two feet in front.  

Ackers was on his feet cheering.

Le Coq and Mona accompanied Ackers to the presentation ceremony and they returned in triumph to Ackers’ box with the trophy and the winning cat.

Tiddles (also known as York Hunt) was returned to his rightful owner.  The case was solved, but what about the murders?  Ackers was the only suspect left.  He must be the murderer and Mona was determined to prove it.  She was just debating what to do next when Ackers went out the back of the box announcing that the moppet was to receive a special treat.  No sooner had he gone through the door than a terrible screeching and shrieking was heard coming from the adjoining room.

Le Coq and Mona rushed in just as Stingy, Tubbs and Doris rushed in from the other door.

A horrible sight greeted their eyes.  Ackers was lying on the floor dead.  Mauled to death by his own cat which was now sitting contentedly licking its paws.

Le Coq looked around at the assembled throng.

“Anozer murder” he said “for zat is what it is.  Ze dastardly murderer ‘as trained ze cat to attack its former master.  ‘Oo can ‘av done zis dastardly deed.  Le Coq, ‘e know.  Le Coq, ze great Belgian detective will explain all”

“Can it be” he said “ze Sergeant Tubbs or ‘is large wife.  No I sink not.  Ze Tubbs, ‘e does not ‘ave ze energy, or may I say ze wit to carry out zis dastardly deed.  Could it be ze Superintendent Stingy, ze great Stingy of ze yard.  No, ze Stingy, ‘e is only interested in ze budgets and ze money,  ‘E is not ze man to commit ze murder.  But ze Special Constable” he said looking at Mona “she ‘as, ‘ow you say, ze different kettle of fish to fry in ze sea.  ‘Ere is ze person wiz ze brains, ze person ‘oo is ze brain surgeon, and ze energy, ‘oo can ‘ow you say poss ze washing all ze morning.  It is she ‘oo is present at every murder.  And she ‘av ze motive.  She ‘as ze grudge against ze men for being ‘ow you say ze butt of all ze suggestive double entendres.  It is she ‘oo is always getting ‘ow you say ze stiff one up ze podium and zis she does not like.  So she comes up wiz ze plan to murder all of ze men in revenge”

Stingy and Tubbs stared at Mona.  Here was the cause of all the expenditure/ extra work that they had had to put up with.

Tubbs laid a hand on her shoulder and started to intone in a monotone

“You do not have to say anything but if you don’t say something which if you hadn’t said it might have been thought to be something which if you had said it you might have wanted to consider using in your defence…” the words of the oft repeated caution fell like lead on the silent air.

“Don’t be silly” said Mona “I’m not the murderer.  Someone else was present at every murder.  Him!” pointing at the figure of Le Coq trying in vain to escape through the small window where he had become inextricably wedged.

She walked over to Le Coq and triumphantly pulled off his bushy false beard.  The others gasped for staring back at them, without its concealing whiskers, was the rotund face of Alderman Ebenezer Widebottom.

“But you’re” said Stingy

“But I thought” said Tubbs.

“Yes Yes” said Widebottom “you all thought I was dead.  But I am not.  It is I who is the mastermind behind this dastardly plot.  And but for you” he said pointing at Mona “I’d be free now, free I tell you, free!.  How did you penetrate my secret cunning disguise”

“I’ll admit you had me fooled for a while” said Mona “the French accent was perfect, almost too perfect, but then you made the one little slip.  The one little slip that criminals, no matter how brilliant, will always make.  When you were engaged in your false denunciation of me you said ‘double entendre’ when everyone knows that a real Frenchman would always have said ‘double entente’, only ignorant English people say ‘double entendre’!  I remembered then how you said you were a good mimic of accents when we first met and it all fell into place.”

“Foiled, and by a linguistic solecism!” exclaimed Widebottom

“But how did you do it “ asked Doris “we thought you were dead”

“That wasn’t me” said Widebottom “that was a male mannekin from Ryles Emporium, I think you remarked how they all bear a remarkable resemblance to me.  The resemblance is so striking that no one would know the difference.  A knife in the back of the mannekin , some tomato ketchup and the effect was totally convincing”

“But surely Foppington-Jones arranged for a post-mortem” exclaimed Tubbs

“Foppington-Jones was part of the plot,” said Widebottom “the post-mortem result was forged.  But then of course Foppington-Jones had to go.  He didn’t realise he was playing such an active part to bring about my dastardly plan”.

“But why would he agree to do it” asked Doris

“He wanted to take her up the podium” said Widebottom pointing at Mona “the old fool thought that the fake murder would play right into his hands”

“But why, why?” asked Tubbs “why did you do it.  Do you know how much work you caused me?”

“Coketown United” said Widebottom “ I  needed to get control of Coketown United.  For years now they’ve been fourth bottom of the Premier League, held back by those dinosaurs like Ackers, Boot and McSporran.  They had to go.  They had to go.  I had such dreams.   No more teams of local hackers but a team of great foreign players  I had Arsole Wanker lined up for manager and Pietro Coglione the great Italian, Tessorino from Argentina and of course the great Frenchman himself Zizi Troudeballe.  Now all my dreams are shattered. And only the Championship awaits.  So I needed to get rid of Ackers and I hatched the plan to steal his cat train it to attack him and then return it to him, but the loss of the cat got out and all the others had to die so as to put you off the scent”

And Widebottom was led away in chains. 

Chapter 11

The car slowly chugged its way south with Mona at the wheel.  Tubbs was looking forward to the next edition of his magazine which would be waiting for him when he got back.  Delia was going to be describing some new continental ice lollies she had invented called French Lickers.  Tubbs was looking forward to seeing Delia’s French lickers.  He even fantasised about pinching a couple of them if he could get a chance.  What would he give to nick a pair of Delia’s French Lickers!

He picked up a copy of the Coketown Chronicle and Argos and read the headline

“Stingy Strikes Again!”

He read aloud to the company.

“Of all the names that strike dread into the heart of the criminal fraternity that of Stingy of the Yard must stand at the head.  Once again the redoubtable sleuth has by the sheer power of his deductive brain brought down one of the master criminals of the age.  Aided by his redoubtable team of Tubbs and Dodger…” he stopped suddenly

“My God!  Where’s Dodger” he said

In all the excitement everybody had forgotten about Dodger last seen going deep underground.

The car was halted at a level crossing where long lines of coal trucks heading to the power hungry factories of the south trundled by.  In the distance the golden cornfields of the South could be glimpsed near the horizon.

Suddenly their eyes were attracted by a small figure standing on top of one of the trucks waving wildly.  He too had glimpsed this first sight of home.